Neuromage
by Perfknight
Summary: The Purists have allied with the government, and they have a mission: Cleanse the city of Project NeuroMAGE. If Alex Cairne doesn't find out why and stop it, then his friends will surely join the Heap.
1. Chapter 1: The Rooftops

p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="bfb87117ce3e89d14205f167ff0c30cc"I sat on the rooftop, my eyes closed, breathing. For whatever reason, I preferred breathing to any other noise, except possibly music. I did not know what it was that made me like it. Maybe it was just something relaxing, reminding me that I was still alive. On the other hand, maybe it was the pure feeling of it in my ears. Whatever it was, I enjoyed the sound of it./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="a62fcee1a75354882890815f9375f84d"My hand decided to run through my dyed blue hair on its own as I opened my eyes. The warm air had long lost its novelty, as it was midsummer. By the sun, I could judge it was the middle of the afternoon. I turned my head around, seeing the city of New Toronto unfurl in my vision. It felt as though I was sitting on a rift between destruction and salvation. Life and death. Towards my left, barely blocked by the constructions on the roof, lay the heart of the city and its surroundings. The buildings were clean, standing tall and sturdy as the day they were first built, centuries ago. It was what was left nearly untouched after the Battle of Toronto. Towards my right, however, I could see the full effects of the war. Rubble and debris lay for kilometers, stretching out like hands of detriment towards the horizon. When I looked downwards, it was metaphorically the same. To my left, I would not suffer any major damage whatsoever if I fell off the edge, because of the roof. To my right, a seven-story drop awaited me. A most certain death. I had a couple of centimeters of leeway, but after that, it was nothing but the sidewalk./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="4a987485f4a5c268bb6b71dadbac048f"I looked at the sky, and sighed softly, my brown eyes in full view of any possible onlookers above. Smiling slightly, I waved at the satellites, though I could not see them. I knew they were there, though. Just like my own eyes. My mother used to say that I had her eyes and her smarts./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="836e5ec458713ec8b00812f1c7300790"I stood, stretching. Judging by my numbed behind, I had been sitting there for at least an hour. I faced outwards, away from health and prosperity, towards damage and post-warfare. Destruction was never beautiful, to me. It reminded me of what could have lasted in a proper state, suddenly shattered to a million pieces. However, for whatever reason, I could not help but stare at it. Still breathing. Somehow, I was still breathing./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="27e6d13f263291084af95810383fcecd"Slowly, I turned my head, looking at the rest of the city. It appeared as though there was an invisible, jagged circle separating the clean part of the city from the damaged one. Another thing about destruction: it was never clean. Especially if you used an explosive. It went double for using an explosive dropped from aircraft. My eyes lingered on the jagged line between the part of the city the defensive forces did save, and the one they could have./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="c82cc3fee11a23477a3f1d8f5a84d1fe"I sighed. I had had about enough of looking at all of this destruction. I turned all the way to my right, and ran. Not even thinking, I ran straight for the edge of the roof, jumping when I could run no further. I was in freefall for a split second, and then my feet hit solid ground. I tucked and rolled forward, putting slight pressure on my right shoulder. Without skipping a beat, I got up and continued running; and breathing, of course. /p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="2b8a099a765b096b9835e2710f24381d"In twice, out twice. In twice, out twice. In, out. Left, right. I loved running. Especially when I combined it with climbing, vaulting, jumping, rolling, and other elements that composed the music of freerunning. It was fast, efficient, and beautiful in a rugged way./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="08f43f2480a1e4b482c9d5db774ff6ab"I came up towards a wall, curving my path outwards so that I was nearly parallel to the wall once I reached it. Jumping, I put one foot on the wall right next to me and pushed off, putting one foot directly in contact with another wall in front of me, and pushed off that. I ended up/p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="97c689dd927e0705e5a4edef861232e2"I kept my eyes focused on the path ahead of me, analyzing obstacles and the environment. As much as freerunning itself was beautiful, the rooftops on which I ran were as amazing to look at. To anyone else, it would have just looked like a random assortment of vents, outcrops and other constructions. To me, it was a perfect urban freerunning environment. I noticed a waist high obstacle about five meters ahead. No trouble. I simply vaulted over it, and continued./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="901228db74454fd9cc5daa087d88c9d7"Eventually, I reached another roof, and I had to stop, as I could not jump the gap to the next building. It was across the street, so it would take an exo-suit to cross the gap. The building on the other side of the impasse was my destination. I stepped up to the edge, searching for anything I could use to get to the other side. After a few seconds, I found a path to my right that would take me on a route to my destination. I sped to the right, running on the edge of the roof, vaulting, climbing and otherwise maneuvering around obstacles in my way. Going around things on ground level seemed so boring to me./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="60f33493d9507cfd89bc359fc7347603"A few minutes later, I stopped at the edge of a roof, smiling. Sweat dripped down my back in the form of tiny droplets in the humid air. Freerunning was a rush that few people understood. I observed the monolithic skyscrapers, constructions of glass and steel and carbon fibre superimposed against the cloudy blue sky. The sun appeared to be a charged plasma round, headed straight towards me yet staying where it was./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="66d0d1837347f3985d53dfbe6c6f02cd"This time, I ignored the ruin behind my back, and focused on the salvation in front of me. This was what they did save. The proof that we survived. No, not only survived, em style="box-sizing: border-box;"won./em I could see many shops and other venues. The people were few, but the ones that were in the streets walked with their heads held high, glorious and free. O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.../p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="a281b5519d25e4e971bd2cda54960b8a"I smiled wider. I was proud to be a Canadian. Even if our numbers were few, we were happy with what we had. Our anthem had not changed in over three hundred years, from what I'd heard. The Canada-China war did not take what we were as people./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="190951f86e2265f6a03cd57ab35128ab"I broke my gaze from the streets below, searching for the rest of my line. As much as I wanted to marvel at our streets and think, I also wanted to get to my destination. However, in my search, my eyes flew over my home. My old home. I tensed up. Five years ago. Five years ago, and what happened there still bothered me. A half decade.../p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="1920a84a5353d8b63b15080d4a11fa4d"I stopped myself before I got lost in my thoughts. I found the remainder of my line and followed it, resuming my rough rhythm of jumping, vaulting, climbing and running. Soon enough, I was on top of the building I was heading towards. I jumped down, onto the railing of a fire escape, and then down further onto the platform itself. From there, I ran towards the ground. The metallic thuds transitioned to less resonant ones as my feet hit the ground. I put my hand on the corner of the rough bricks of the wall as I ran around it, towards the entrance. The building was very old, made of brick and mortar. It had been repurposed for training uses. That became clear as I stepped inside, the modern design and architecture greeting me. Notices, information and advertisements floated on the walls, while heavy, thumping, computerized music played through the sound system./p  
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="2f0f6cec0a44fe433ccc8cafb575c7e5"I walked up the stairs, advertisements for sparring equipment, protective gear, and other items flashing on the walls. When I reached the top floor, I turned left and walked down a long corridor. Several minutes later, I turned right, and opened a door. The sight of the training room greeted me. Punching bags galore lined the walls, and there were two sparring rings. A line of four targets stood along the wall. I took a deep breath. This was my happy place, or at least one of them./p 


	2. Chapter 2: The Patrol

If the bag I was punching had feelings, I would be very sorry for it. I had been assaulting it for the past hour or so, constantly perfecting my fighting technique. "It's a dangerous world," my father, Gordon Cairne, a neurologist famous-or infamous, to some-for Project NeuroMAGE, had reminded me countless times over the years. Because of this fact, every member of the city had to be taught self-defense, after strict lecturing and rule enforcement, of course. Yet, some people still committed assault. Whoever would have done that to me would have learned their lesson rather quickly, along with learning the fact that I could break at least two of their limbs and knock a person out in under a minute. Which was my slow time.

I stopped for a moment, and thought to myself for the thousandth time, _What was Project NeuroMAGE? My father never mentioned it to me other than its name. I mean, I know it would have to do with the brain, and something to do with the old English word for wizard, but nothing more._

I kept hitting the bag, which hung from the ceiling of our training room, dodging the bag as it came around, only to land another hit. The training room was a common area, open to the public. My father taught me things that would impress the best instructor. He said it was only because I was his family. I knew how to disarm a weapon from any possible position, as well as having a knowledge of biomechanics that had led to five knockouts in under thirty seconds and countless mercies. I was well known among those who fought regularly.

"You know, you're actually pretty good."

I turned around at the sound, slightly startled by the newcomer, only to find a girl of about nineteen leaning against the wall, smiling. She had bright blue hair, fair skin, and brilliant blue eyes. I smiled. It was Skye, my girlfriend. She did not seem at all fazed that I had left to head for a roof earlier. Good thing I had the notion to tell her beforehand.

"Just like day one, huh?" I asked her. She nodded, still smiling.

"Feels a bit like déjà vù." She replied. "You're still as good as always."

"I don't like to let my skills dull. Plus, I like beating the tar out of stuff."

This made her laugh. "Like I didn't know _that_ already. You fought me the second day after we met."

"And won," I reminded her. "Also, I only fought you because you asked me to."

"Are we just going to stand around, talking about our second day of friendship or are you going to give me a hug?"

I quickly walked over and gave her a warm embrace.

"I still love your hugs. You're so comfy!"

I just smiled at this. Skye had been mentioning that I gave good hugs ever since day one.

I hugged her for a few seconds, and then let go.

"What do you want to do?" I asked simply.

Skye hesitated a second, seeming as though she was trying to remember something, before she asked, "Isn't it your shift on patrol today?"

I smacked myself. "Oh, yeah! I completely forgot! Thanks, sweetie," I said and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then sprinted out the door.

I turned left upon exiting the combat training room, and began a long sprint through the hallway towards the stairs. I vaulted over the railings once I got to a certain point in the hopes of decreasing my time to get to my apartment. The blue plasti-steel stairs clacked each time I stepped. The announcements continued flashing on the walls, a palette of blues, whites and oranges. Bursting through the front doors, the warm midsummer air introduced itself to my lungs once more. I made several turns, and ran through straights that would have tested any man's endurance. No time for sightseeing, and there was not much to see in the first place. My black t-shirt and running pants stuck to my back and thighs with sweat, and I was about to make a whole lot more of it.

I eventually arrived at the door to my home, breathing heavily. I was built for distance running, but I practiced often enough in speed so that I was not terribly slow either.

Without hesitation, I pressed my fingerprint to a panel on the door, and it waited for a second, scanning, before swinging open. I rushed in, and changed hastily once I got to my bedroom. A tight black jumpsuit, with padding in the elbows, knees and groin area. A vest, also black, which had all sorts of pockets for various things such as ammo and equipment. The vest was printed with the letters N, T, P, and F surrounded by a green circle, followed by my name below it on the back. The insignia also served as a holder for a weapon. My last name was also printed on the front of the vest. I also put on several items of bullet-resistant material encased in metal on my forearms and shins. I slowly ran my hand along my neck, and felt flexible impact-resistant material snake up behind it. I grabbed my helmet and put it on my head. I raised my hand just above the center of my forehead, and quickly pulled down as if I had a zippered hood. I saw black envelop my vision from the top down, and then it turned into a view of my room. I turned my head, and the room turned accordingly. A heads up display ran across my vision. It displayed a variety of parameters, including vitality signs, as well as other features, including a map, compass, and ally and hostile identification.

I searched the room for my HC-AR77B, the bullpup assault rifle issued to me by the Patrol Force. The HC-AR77B looked as if someone rearranged the parts on an ancient gun named a G36. I found it in a mag-lock safe, along with my combat boots. I took hold of the boots first and slipped them up my feet. I grabbed my rifle and magnetically locked it to the back of my vest as the footwear auto-laced. I swiped three magazines of ammunition, putting two in the vest and one in the mag well of the gun. I also put on black protective gloves with padding on the knuckles and forefingers. I did not bother to go through an equipment check, as I was in such a hurry. My room barely had a second left after I slipped on the second glove before I left its space for the day.

As I ran outside the main compound, I got what I dubbed the "Death Visor" from the head of patrols, since I could not see his face. "You're late," he remarked rather unnecessarily.

"I'm well aware of that, sir." I replied, huffing from the run. I could see the condensation from my breath on the inside of my visor, which cleared up quickly. I barely had a chance to catch my breath in my room.

"You're assigned to Agriculture today, Cairne. Wouldn't want to keep your division waiting."

"Understood, sir."

"I'd take the Sub-trans, if I were you."

"Exactly what I was thinking, sir."

"Good, get to it."

I started running for the nearest Sub-trans checkpoint. They were relatively simple, pods that could hold about one hundred at a time, which was more than enough for our city's population.

The pods deposited themselves underground, and opened when a Sub-trans unit stopped by it. It was far from the most sophisticated technology on the market, but it was cheap and easy to work with, especially for our mostly dim-witted patrol force. I never mentioned it to anyone, but my colleagues had proven themselves ridiculously stupid, to me. That is not to say I did not have evidence. There was plenty of it just looking at their past operations. They were good with guns, though.

I arrived at the pod, coloured black with green trim on the doors, designating it was a pod meant for the Patrol Force. I looked up, seeing the charred half of what used to be called the CN tower that was still standing. I sighed. Sometimes I wished I could see the city when it was in its golden age, when half the buildings were not falling into disrepair, blown up, or, quite simply, abandoned. The Canada-China War, which occurred some decade before I was born, prevented that. Fortunately, no one used nuclear weapons due to a treaty signed by every country in the world to outlaw the use of nuclear weapons in the war. Not to mention that this was after the Third World War, where heavy restrictions on nuclear weapons were placed.

Mutually assured destruction had its benefits. Unfortunately, those benefits only went so far as to prevent the apocalypse. It did not prevent the half-destruction of New Toronto.

I turned my attention back to the pod and walked a step further towards it. It opened automatically, and I walked the rest of the way inside. The doors closed behind me, and I felt the pod descending. Some patrol members called it the "Gravedigger," because it dug exactly six feet underground before opening up. I had to crouch in order to get through the five-foot high opening once it was underground.

I waited a few minutes before the first unit showed up. The units consisted of trains of sixteen individual capsules, each big enough for one person. A user would climb in, face up, and wait a few seconds for the pressure sensors to detect their presence, before the capsule closed and the unit moved forward. The cycle repeated until the last capsule was filled, or the pod was empty, whichever came first.

I clambered in the capsule, repositioned my rifle so that it fit comfortably within it, and the door closed. I said my destination aloud, and waited as the capsule processed it. It took only a second. Since I was the only one in the pod, the unit began to move forward quickly. A display that was not part of my HUD popped up in front of my face. I navigated through until I found the menu where I could play music. The unit's computer systems could perform a variety of tasks, ranging from planning operations to playing low-tech simulations. I did not bother with any of it, though. My mind alone was enough to keep me occupied at that point. I hit "Play," and relaxed as the sounds of "Laser," a descendant of early dubstep, filled my ears.

Several minutes passed before I arrived at my destination. The capsule started turning sideways and slowed down as it approached. It came to a full stop at a 90-degree angle, and the door opened outward. I felt a strong force exerted on my back, and I was flying out of the pod. The first time this happened, The ejection took me by surprise; I almost broke my neck that time. This time, I was ready. I curled myself up into a ball in the air. I had barely a second to do so before my body landed on a synthetic substance with a lot of give. As soon as I made contact, I extended my body, and I was laying flat on my back. I got up, and searched the area for my rifle. It was lying a few feet away. Instead of walking towards it and picking it up, I crouched down, facing away from it, and yelled, "Rifle, here!" As soon as the word "here" escaped my lips, I looked over and saw the rifle twitch before racing towards my back. As it approached, it slowed slightly to soften the impact on my back as the rifle re-locked to my vest. I stood up, and walked towards the exit to the surface. The area surrounding the exit was dim and blank. Fitting for a city still recovering from a brutal war.

I took a moment to consider how lucky I was to be born. My father told me that the attacking party in the Canada-China War, the CSNC, which stood for Communist State of New China, had no access to nuclear weapons. They, however, did have access to a massive population, an incredible stock of resources, training that left them brutal and relentless, and determination to rival the strongest empire. Not to mention a hatred of North America that could have ignited a thousand suns. That made them a reckoning force in the war. By some miracle, however, the rest of the world had a bone to pick with New China. By the end of it, Shanghai was no more than a few lucky buildings in a vast expanse of ruin. That did not prevent the Chinese from almost destroying New Toronto. I shivered at the thought of what may have happened had the Chinese won.

At that point, I realized that I was standing in front of the pod's exit doors, late for my patrol. I shook my head to clear it, and reached out a hand for the door's handle. As I pushed open the door with my left hand, I took hold of the handle of my rifle with my right. I pulled the rifle out of its magnetic locking, and walked out of the Sub-trans checkpoint.

My surroundings were about as comforting as the bleak pod exit, consisting of dilapidated buildings, all without glass in at least one or two windows. Often, there would be charred areas, indicating explosions or fires. The grass was dry and yellowed, and any flowers in sight were wilted. I took a deep breath, and shifted my rifle into a ready position. Muzzle down, stock resting against the padding in my shoulder. My feet began to carry me towards the farms.

My next conscious observation was that I was approaching the fields. I noticed there was some kind of fight going on about one hundred meters from my position. I gave the visual command for my HUD to zoom in, and I was not exactly surprised by what I saw. The situation was that three people, clad all in white were assaulting a man on the ground constantly with electric batons. Of course. The Purists at it again, attacking seemingly random people to "cleanse" the city of my father's project. I really wished I knew more about it, so I could just have some answers.

I passed the scene, as a little bell rung in my head to avoid contact with the Purists. For whatever reason, the Purists allied with the city's government when they formed, and the government wore an imaginary eye patch to whatever the Purists did. The man on the ground noticed me and called out for help.

"Hey! Help me out here!" He shouted. The Purists just kept attacking him. He yelped. I kept walking.

"Wait, come back!" He yelled, desperate. I kept moving my feet forward. _Do not mind him,_ I thought to myself, _just keep walking._ At that point, he cried something that finally made me stop walking.

"What, you're not going to help one of your own kind?"

I turned my head, and saw one of the Purists looking at me. His brow was furrowed, and his mouth puckered as if he had just tasted something sour. His head was perfectly exposed. Any movement that I deemed as threatening me would leave him and his companions unwillingly and very roughly lobotomized. The Purists were definitely friendly with the government, but that does not mean they would not attack a Patrol Force member, for any number of reasons. I turned the safety off on my rifle, ready to shoot.


	3. Chapter 3: The Rat Hole

However, that was not necessary. The Purist just gave a dismissive wave of his hand and turned his attention back to the man on the ground. My feet started moving and so did my mind. Eventually, both things quickened to a jog, and then a run. My body wanted to be as far away from the situation as possible, but my mind refused to leave it until I forced myself to calm down and focus on my patrol. I slowed to a walk.

As I walked, I saw a gathering of people in the distance. I zoomed my display in, and I saw insignias of the New Toronto Patrol Force on their backs. I returned to a normal field of view, and started to run towards the gathering.

As I arrived, puffing, the other members started to notice me.

"Well, Cairne finally decided to show up!" one of the members called out.

"Hey, I forgot that my day off was tomorrow, not today. Lost track of time," I replied, breathing heavily.

"Lucky this is your only time doing it so far, Alex."

"Yeah, I know, Bruce. No need to tell me. The boss would kill me if I kept doing this."

I heard a chuckle coming from Bruce's helmet. "He already wants to kill us all. Just needs a reason to." We all laughed at his joke. Once the laughter died down, the head of the division spoke up.

"Alright, listen up!" He said just below a yell. We all listened intently. The division head thrust his hand out toward the ground, and an image sprawled onto the dirt. It was a terrain map of the Agriculture section. A variety of different shades of green splattered the image, with gray representing other sections of the city.

The division head snapped his fingers, and a small section of the map faded to red.

"See this area? This has been, according to several reports, a high-risk area for poachers. People just can't seem to stick to their own land, have to steal from others." The division commander shook his head before continuing, "I need a team of three to go in, do a bit of recon, and report back. Volunteers?"

I raised my hand, as did Bruce and a couple of other patrol members.

"Cairne, I want you to take Luckman and Willings," the division head said, pointing to Bruce and a patrol member named Bryan, "You all are the gentlemen that are going in. It is a high-risk area, so do not expect to just waltz in and start taking notes. It is not all bad, though. You might even finally get a chance to use those rifles. I know, we usually do not encourage the use of them, but who knows? Good luck."

The three of us who were going in for reconnaissance nodded, and started towards the area marked for observation.

"As for the rest of you, it is business as usual..." the division head's voice faded as we walked out of earshot. When we were about fifty meters away, Bryan nudged me on the shoulder. I looked at him.

"How's your girl?" He asked me.

"She's alright. I'm still not entirely sure if she wants to kill me, though," I responded jokingly, and we all chuckled.

My history with Skye before we hooked up had been a little rocky-nix that, _very_ rocky-with the two of us thinking one wanted to kill the other, among other things. Mainly thinking Skye wanted to kill me. Nevertheless, despite a good heap of pain, misunderstandings, and yes, murder attempts (although, it was not ever Skye who was trying to kill me, it was someone else), we found out that we really loved each other. For the past three months, though, we had been very happy together. In fact, ever since we got together, there had not been a single murder attempt between us. Call me stupid all you like.

Our small group of patrol officers kept moving, talking occasionally. Eventually, we reached the designated area, as reminded by our global positioning systems built into our neural implants, wirelessly connected to the helmets. As the alert flashed on my HUD, I grabbed my weapon and readied it. A half second later, the other two took the cue, and readied their rifles as well.

The designated area was easily recognizable, as trees sprung up seemingly out of nowhere, forming a distinct barrier. The scenery within the wall of trees was a dense orchard. Plentiful underbrush littered the ground where there were no trees, no higher than my thighs. It did not appear to be a danger area, since there was no one out in the open. Of course, no one was stupid enough to run a poacher base right in the Patrol Force's line of sight.

The obvious solution to this problem was to activate infrared vision. I did so; however, there were no heat signatures. _Smarter than you would think,_ I thought. Then, another thought rolled into my head: _Maybe they are underground._ I caught myself before I went any farther. I remembered I was on a reconnaissance mission, not one to search and destroy.

I turned and faced the other two members of my fireteam. I may have had these two under my control, but a good leader acts as if he is part of the team. No, a good leader _is_ part of the team. That is what my father had used to say. Still did.

"Alright, it looks clear, but that doesn't mean no one's there. We'll have to do a thorough search, though, as directed," I told them. They nodded in agreement. "Remember what the head of patrols said? 'Best part of a soldier is the thing between his ears. Use it.' As for the search, let us not rule anything out. Split up. Holler if you find anything."

My two companions nodded once again, and we moved into preset positions for an area reconnaissance mission. Adjusting for search area, of course.

We began our search, and for five whole minutes, we found nothing but foliage. Until I heard a thud that sounded different from the normal sound of footsteps in greenery. Oddly metallic, and just loud enough for me to notice. I looked down and cleared the foliage directly beneath my feet. What I revealed did not belong there in the slightest. A metal panel, about a meter wide, with a scanner meant for a handprint welded to its surface.

Immediately, I performed a quick series of visual commands in front of my face, and gave an order message to my teammates to get to my position immediately. We called the technique "hollering."

Within seconds, I heard the sounds of foliage crashing, and I knew without even seeing it that my companions were on their way over.

"What did you find?" Bruce asked. I waved them closer.

"It's a panel. Handprint-activated." I replied.

"What do you suggest we do?"

"Well, I wouldn't blow the thing open. We don't want to announce our presence unless we have to," I said as I examined the device. "Maybe we can-no, that wouldn't work. Any ideas?"

For the next two minutes, we stood there, trying to figure out what to do about this new panel, passing ideas back and forth, eventually rejecting them all. The wildlife provided some relatively relaxing background noise, which aided in contemplation. However, none other than a metallic screeching coming from the panel interrupted the soundtrack of the wilderness. Bruce, Bryan and I readied our weapons simultaneously, jumping away from the panel as we did so.

The panel started to move. Tilting on a hinge, ever so slowly. Those even a kilometer away would have heard the loud metallic creak generated by the object. I kept my sight trained on it, not willing to risk my life so easily.

When the panel reached a certain point, approximately an eighth of the way up, I put my hand under the panel and lifted it the rest of the way, the other two keeping their weapons trained on whoever decided to open the hatch.

Which turned out to be no one at all. Behind my visor, I cocked my eyebrow. _How could it open with no one underneath it?_ I thought. Then, I remembered two words: Remote, and control.

I leveled my rifle, and climbed down the now visible ladder. The climbable chunk of metal stopped about six meters from ground level. Given the fact that whatever natural light that came in through the panel was the only visibility available, I decided to turn my HC-AR77B's flashlight on. The illuminated area turned out to be an underground room, crudely built, about five meters in length by five in width; a door stood on the opposite end, I assumed it lead to the rest of the base. I quickly determined that there were no enemies visible, and waved the other two in. When I turned back, I took a closer look at the place and found it looked... Ransacked. Various items littered the floor in a completely random fashion, as if someone had rifled through them and did not bother about the condition of the place. Collections and trails of blood stained the earthy walls and floor, and bits of clothing stuck to the pools and streaks of crimson.

I walked in slowly, my rifle at the ready. I heard the dual muffled thuds of my teammate entering the hideout. I did not stop moving. Again, I did not take any chances. Someone had to have opened that door. Eventually, I crossed what would have been the threshold of the first room, had it been equipped with a proper door. I snapped quickly to my left, and then to my right, the light of my teammate's flashlight gleaming off of my weapon, revealing the matte grey contours of the rifle.

I saw no movement. However, what I did see made me stop short.

A plate of glass lay on the floor. I moved towards it, and picked it up. I knew what it was. The city had a development with augmented reality, and decided to implement it in various things. Including leaving messages, which this glass plate obviously intended to do. I braced myself for whatever the scan code left, and performed the reading procedure. In about a second, the message flashed in front of me, and stayed where it was. The message read: "Rat hole has been searched. All Neuromages have been dealt with."

I stood there, reading the message repeatedly. The words, "Rat hole" stuck in my head. Purists. It had to be them. No one else would be targeting Neuromages and insulting them like that. I shook my head slowly, sighing. The poachers were Neuromages.

I put the panel down, closing the message as I did so. "Check for stragglers!" I called out, and my team rushed towards the door, followed by myself. A minute or so of running brought us a man rushing-or, rather, stumbling-towards us. His neutral coloured clothing was ragged and dirt patched his black hair. An obvious poacher. Immediately, three barrels aimed at the man, including my own. However, I heard more footsteps behind the man; I immediately readjusted my aim farther into the tunnel. The revealed figure was not another poacher, as I had thought, but a Purist. Unlike the ones that I had seen earlier, a sleek white helmet covered his face.

Before I could even open my mouth, the Purist spoke, in a near-robotic tone. "He's ours," was all he said.

"I'm sorry, but we have rights to capture any poachers we find," I replied coldly.

"And we have rights to capture any Neuromages we find."  
I squinted, and looked at the rifle he held in his hand. I recognized it immediately. It was a plasma rifle, loaded with a hollow heat-resistant round. The rounds had electric charges, so they produced a plasma of very high temperature. Thus, it was a weapon far superior to the standard kinetic weapons issued to the Patrol Force. I knew if I disagreed further, I would get a plasma bolt right in the face; the heat would have melted my faceplate through and through. I would not be able to do squat about it, as the Purist's armour would be able to withstand a massive amount of kinetic weapon fire.

I sighed, and turned on my heel. My companions took the hint, and followed me out of the hideout. I left the poacher in the hands of the Purists, and I ignored the protests and screams of pain as I climbed the ladder out of the place.


	4. Chapter 4: The Subject

I lay down in my apartment, finished with my patrol shift. I stared at the ceiling, which was a bright blue colour. I had heard that blue helps the mind to calm down, and thus make rational decisions and thoughts.

The words that the man had said still rung in my head. _What, you are not going to help one of your own kind?_ What did that man mean by that? The only thing he could have meant was that I was a part of my father's project somehow. I did not even know what it really was, though, so how could I have been involved? I shook the thoughts from my head, and decided to head for the combat training room. _Maybe beating the tar out of stuff will get this thing out of my head,_ I thought.

Upon my arrival, I noticed that Skye was already in there, engaged in combat with another individual, and winning.

"Skye?" I asked her, "What are you doing?"

She looked up. "Combat, I guess." She shrugged rather innocently for a girl who was just beating the tar out of someone else. It was rare to see sparring done between two human beings; however, I did it all the time.

"Improving, I see," I said, gesturing towards the victim. "Who's he?"

She only shrugged again. "I don't know, but he wanted a fight," she said with a half-smile. I nodded, picking up a knife.

"Well, I was going to hug you, but now you have a knife," she said, crossing her arms. I smiled, throwing the knife at a target across the room. I missed the centre by a considerable amount, but that was not what I was aiming for. I turned back to Skye, and embraced her. "Good one," she whispered in my ear. I smiled, and then suddenly jumped back. Another girl had appeared, to me, out of nowhere. She was about Skye's age, a good eighteen or nineteen, with black hair, green eyes, and a uniform that did not stand out from anyone else in New Toronto.

"Skye!" The newcomer shouted. Skye turned around, her face lit up.

"Hey!" She said, pulling the newcomer into a massive hug. Meanwhile, I merely stood idly by, an eyebrow raised with my mouth hanging slightly open. The newcomer noticed my rather bewildered expression, and let go of Skye.

"My name's Sky. Without an E," she said with a smile, extending her hand to me. I took it quickly, reverting to an expression I would use to greet someone new: a slight smile, even eyebrows, and my eyes in line with my new contacts'.

"Alex. Without the 'Ander,'" I joked in response. This made Sky laugh.

"Pleasure to meet you," she said. This Sky character had a definite air of positivity. Otherwise, it would have been intoxication; however, I could not smell any form of alcohol on her.

I walked two steps towards Skye, and whispered in her ear. "How come I haven't met her before?"

"I forgot to introduce you two," she said, shrugging. I rolled my eyes.

"You forgot? How long have you been friends with her?"

"Oh, a while now. Almost six months."

I smacked my forehead with my palm. "We've been together three months, and you just forgot to introduce me. That's nice. Also, is she drunk?" It was unlikely that she was, but the better to ask.

"She's drunk on a good day," Skye said, rubbing the back of her hair-covered neck.

This changed my perspective on the new girl. I decided to head to the firing range, letting the girls know.

"I'm ninety-nine percent sure he doesn't like me," I overheard Sky say. I rolled my eyes, picking up a weapon, a kinetic handgun. As I aimed it, however, I caught a sentence thrown into the air. It seemed unimportant, but it caught my curiosity.

"Hey, watch this!" Sky said aloud, and I turned around. Completely unfazed by the fact that I was watching, she produced a clear water container. Within seconds, the liquid within began to freeze from the inside out, ice crystals exploding in a white, tight-knit web from the center. I dropped my weapon in shock. The girl was not holding any form of freezing material that I could see. She was freezing it, quite literally, with her bare hands.

Before I could even finish processing what I was seeing, the ice began to recede, and bubbles formed from the bottom, rising to the surface. My mouth opened even wider, as if I was yawning as wide as possible, yet no movement of air, in or out, came.

 _How?_ I yelled to myself in my head. _Just_ how _is that possible?_

Sky finally noticed I was staring at her and Skye, and smiled. "Impressed?" Sky asked me.

"That's not possible. I have to be hallucinating. I have to be," I said, shaking my head. _This cannot be happening,_ I continued silently.

"Pretty sure you're not, honey," Sky remarked, throwing the bottle at me. I caught it before it hit my forehead. Expecting to drop it as soon as I caught it, I was caught off guard by the fact it was room temperature. I held onto it for far longer than I expected beforehand.

The bottle hit the floor as I looked back at Sky. "How did you do that?" I asked. It would have had to be one of two things: A change in pressure, or temperature. Either one potentially lethal to an unprepared human.

The girl shrugged, and extended her arm. "You mean this?"

Suddenly, I felt cold water gush over me. Jumping slightly, I stepped to the side and looked up. Sky had activated the emergency fire prevention system, just by raising her hand.

Skye spoke up. "Oh, and that's not all. She can heal people quicker, too." I narrowed my eyes.

As soon as Skye finished speaking, the alarm system came on. I sighed in annoyance. If we stayed, we would have the fire department to answer to.

"My apartment! Now! Come on!" Sky said, rushing out of the training room. Skye and I followed, hot on her heels. What other option was there, when there was no explanation for what just happened? I kept running.

Sky flung herself out of the building first. Skye was so close behind her, myself following, that the manual doors had no time to close whatsoever. We all kept silent, apart from our shoes hitting the pavement and my rhythmic breathing. Judging by my surroundings, it seemed as though there had been no war whatsoever. However, I knew better. As did everyone else my age.

Sky turned into a door after a while. The movement was so sudden that, given the fact that we had been running straight for a good while, I almost overshot. I would have run into Skye, almost tackling her.

The doors to the next building were automatic, no pushing required. Once we were all inside the apartment building, we all caught our breath under the bright blue lights of the lobby. I looked around the room. The bright green stairwell that led to the Vac-elevs bent downwards once each step had extended past a certain point, eventually leveling off into benches. A highly modern design feature.

"Alright." Sky broke the silence only after she had caught her breath. "Do you want to know how I did that? Follow me," she said, beckoning as she climbed the stairs. I did as she said, so engrossed in my search for information I almost did not care what I had to do to obtain it. Almost.

We all reached the top of the stairwell, where the Vac-elevs stood, three on the immediate wall. The operation of one was simple. An individual would stand in the chute and select the floor towards which they wanted to travel. Air pressure would rapidly decrease at the designated level, causing the gas on the bottom of the highly pressurized chamber to shoot them upwards. Once the user was high enough, a platform would materialize beneath them, and they would quite literally land on their desired floor. The pressures were precisely calculated to return to normal air pressure as soon as the desired floor was reached.

I looked over at Sky. "Floor three," she said without even looking at me. I stepped into a chute, the two girls in the other ones, and I pressed the control to take me to the third floor. Immediately, I began to feel additional external force on my body. Within a matter of seconds, however, that pressure was gone, as the air density had decreased above me. I closed my eyes, and the influence on the soles of my feet increased. The conditioned air rushed over my body until a split second later, my feet hit solid ground again.

Some few minutes later, we arrived at Sky's apartment. The theme was a clear orange and pink palette, typical of a female. As soon as I entered, I was slammed into the wall, back first. Sky's face loomed in front of mine, Skye hanging back, her arms crossed.

"What's your name, boy?" Sky asked.

"Alex," I replied automatically. "And don't call me 'boy,' I'm only two years younger than Skye," I said, jerking my head towards my girlfriend.

"Last name?" The girl asked, equally quickly. She wasted no time whatsoever.

"Cairne." This statement made her let go.

"Alex Cairne. You're Gordon Cairne's son, right?"

"Obviously."

"That... I did not see coming."

 _That's a first,_ I thought. People always said I looked a lot like my father, if he had had my mother's eyes and my electric blue hair. "Yeah, so I'm the son of a famous neurologist. So what? Am I a celebrity now?" I asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Not really," Sky said, leaning in for effect, her bright green eyes clearer than ever. "You're one of us."

I looked around the room, as if searching for a fly. This girl had quite a talent for being vague. "Who's us?" I said, looking the girl dead on. She sighed in exasperation.

"Subjects of Project NeuroMAGE."

My jaw dropped. I _was a subject of Project NeuroMAGE?_ I thought. Gordon Cairne experimenting on his own son seemed almost too far-fetched to be possible. And yet this girl in front of my face had spoken of it in a way that was off-handed. As if she was stating the weather forecast.

"That's how I was able to do all that stuff. Change the temperature of the water, without killing myself as an added bonus, activating the sprinklers, all that," she explained calmly. I looked to Skye.

"You knew. You knew, or at least, I think you did, that I was a subject of Project NeuroMAGE," I said, walking towards the girl that had kept the most important information of my life out of my hands. "Why didn't you tell me?" I was not angry, just shocked.

Skye sighed. "I thought you'd never believe me," she said, tears welling up. "You never believe anything out of the ordinary. It's why I never share anything like this with you. All I wanted, from the age of ten, was to be normal, because of people like you. I never thought I'd end up dating one," she stared up at me, a mix of anger and sadness in her eyes.

I let my shoulder sag with a sigh, suddenly feeling pity for Skye. All she had ever wanted, for nine years, was to be normal. Like I would have been, if what I had believed for seventeen years, give or take a few, had been true. I made a move to pull her into an embrace; however, she pushed me away. "Don't touch me." It was only a slight shove, but it felt like being hit with a bus. My eyes seemed to show this, but I hardened them back into steel.

"Fine, then," I said, turning on my heel, out of the brightly coloured apartment. I got about halfway to the Grav-ret before I heard Skye calling to me. A rather quick change of mind, however I decided not to take it too heavily. I whirled myself around, and headed back to the apartment. As soon as Skye saw my face peeking out of the doorframe, she ran up to me and embraced me. Her thin, frail arms wrapped around my midsection, and my chin rested on her head.

"Skye, don't withdraw information from me like this."

"Alex, I forgot to mention, it was also for your protection. I didn't want the Purists on your tail."

"Still. Tell me next time, okay?" I felt her head move in a nod.

I moved my head downwards, so my lips touched her forehead. She moved her own, and our lips found each other's. No matter what, we loved each other. It was what kept us healthy with one another.

"Ugh, get a room," Sky said, startling us both. I had forgotten she was still there. I shrugged.

"Sorry." I turned back to Skye. "Alright. I need to go talk to my dad about this. See you in a bit," I said, patting her on the shoulder. She smiled at me on the way out. I did not even have to check. I just knew her that well.


End file.
